Fresh starts
by StrawberrySab
Summary: Set right after 6x20 and a sort of fix-it to the season finale. Short multichapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I wrote this story right after 6x20 aired but I never really finished it. But after the shameful pointlessness that was the season finale, I decided to turn it into a sort of fix-it. Reworked and finished the first chapter that I am posting now and currently working on the second (and probably final) one.**

* * *

I can still hear the bustle, intensifying with each step I walked down the hallway. I can still hear the camera shutters clicking relentlessly, see the flash lamps, feel them go fiercely at me before I even had the chance to set foot into the hall. I remember shivering inside, then pressing my hand against the back of Peter's, searching for the familiar, comforting smoothness of his ring, until I found myself to cover those last few steps to the podium. _Alone_. I remember fighting the urge to look behind me, as I mustered up courage and started my speech. But the few words I spoke, though learned by heart, are blurry now, forgotten like in a post-exam stress. My mind seems to have cancelled that moment with a saving blackout, except for the burdensome effort I had to lay into trying to hold back the tears.

All I feel now, as the day is over, is a thick layer of stupor.

Standing in the kitchen, I lose myself in the reflection of my face in the island, as the events of the day keep flitting in front of me in a senseless order or logic.

 _Get some rest._

 _Because you betrayed us._

 _I think you should write a book._

 _So is this what made you want to become a lawyer?_

 _You can come back from this._

 _I'm damaged goods._

 _This is home, Alicia._

 _I started that firm. Here. In my home._

My eyes shut tightly, maybe this way those images will disappear. Instead, in the darkness of my closed lids, they only get even more forceful.

 _What do I do now?_

I'd lie to myself if I said that I didn't consider, even if just for an instant, Peter's suggestion that I write a book. I skimmed through the last years of my life like an album, with curiosity and unbiased eyes, but most of the memories who used to bring a smile to my lips now hurt like shards of glass. Would I really want to bring my deepest feelings, my darkest fears, all my weaknesses on the pages of something everyone can read? In this moment, I feel already vulnerable enough to cope with this idea, which is set aside without second thoughts.

I don't need to relive all the pain. I need a fresh start. I need a change. Professional? Personal? It's hard to say now. Both my mind and my wounded pride need time to perk up from a bitter list of fiascos and cheap shots. I'm about to drown its unpleasant feeling in a good-night glass of red when the ringing of the doorbell startles me from my considerations.

The wall clock marks ten o'clock and I have no idea who could possibly show up this late. When I open the door to Peter, part of me is surprised to see him here when I know he should already be in Springfield. But another part of me, the one who really knows him, simply smiles in acknowledgement and steps aside to let him in, again. And I start to think that he won't be able to be back to his routine until I'm back on my feet again.

But when with slow, musing steps he walks to the living room and sits at the table, it's clear that there's something swirling around in his head. I join him and take a seat across the table, waiting to hear the reason of this nightly visit.

His hands cross in front of him, he gazes down for a moment, then back at me. "I've been thinking."

I nod faintly at the obvious and fold my arms on my chest, expectantly. "About what?"

"Grace has only one last year of high school ahead of her," he starts.

"I know." With a smile, I take in how our kids have grown. So fast, _too_ fast, I think. But we did a good job, didn't we?

"Meaning she will leave," he adds.

My brows knit, confused by his words and unsure of where this is all leading. "Did you come back to make me feel better or even worse?" I joke, because I'm sure that's not his intention to hurt me more than I already do, then lean forward to rest my arms on the table, reducing a bit the distance between us.

His soft, almost sheepish chuckle is the confirmation that my feeling was right. "Come with me."

 _Come with me?_

"What?" I shrug, as confusion quickly turns into realization of what he might mean.

"Move with me in Springfield," he explains, with such a composure, a determination in his voice that leaves no doubt to the seriousness of his offer.

I don't think I spend on the idea more than an insignificant second. "How about no?" My chuckle comes out more derisive than disbelieving, though that's not my intention.

"Why not?"

"Because… because…" How do I even explain this to him, after he's the only person who stood by me in these last days? "Peter… I need to get my life back together. _Alone_."

I watch as he sits back, brings his thumb to his bottom lip, and it's clear that he doesn't like the sound of that word. "What do you mean with _alone_?" His letdown drops his voice down by a good octave.

"Only that I don't want to have to depend on you," I explain with softer phrasing.

My words make him sigh, as he leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. He doesn't venture to reach for my hands, but stops only a few inches away. "I don't want you to depend on me. I want you to _rely_ on me."

"And in which way, Peter? Working for you? With Eli keeping an eagle eye on me more than he already does at a distance? Thanks, but no," I decline his offer, in the most polite, yet resolute tone.

"I don't want you to work for me. There are so many options, you would be a great prosecutor, for instance."

I chuckle, then shake my head with resignation and look away. "I don't think it would be a good idea," I persist, "plus my life is here, in Chicago, it's always been here."

Though, he has a point there… What's left for me here? I barely see my mother and Owen once a month, when they happen to remember I exist. I don't have a job or the chance of a career anymore, at least not in the nearest future. Let alone friends I can count on. The thought nearly brings me to my tears again.

This time, he reaches out to cover my hands with his. "You need a fresh start. I'm offering you a fresh start. You don't have to decide now. Grace still has one year of school, and as I said, all you need now is rest and distractions. But… please… promise me that at least you'll consider it," he almost whispers.

My eyes look straight into his, as I'm still trying to grasp the intent behind his unexpected proposal. He's alone. He _feels_ alone. Exactly like me. And I wonder if, besides Eli, between political meetings and unavoidable social events monopolizing most of his life, he could make any friends there at all. I don't think I have even ever asked him. Actually, I don't think I ever wanted to know in the first place. But in this moment he's hanging upon words I haven't spoken yet. I heave a sigh, aware that my stance won't change anyway. And he's probably aware of it, too. "I will… I promise…"

When my front door closes between us, minutes later, I lean against it and peep around at my empty apartment. Its quietness is both enervating and comforting.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: A huge thank you to Chrissie for the plot bunny she threw at me a while ago and that I never actually used before, because it turned out to be perfect for this story!**_

* * *

"Oh, don't forget the conference in Washington," Peter reminds me, looking up from his agenda.

As we quickly review the few events we are expected to attend together, I notice they are not as many as I remembered. Over the last few weeks he cancelled at least three from the original list, and though he simply classified them as _unnecessary_ , I'm not so blind not to see that I'm the reason for his forfeits, and it's something that I silently appreciate. It's impossible to tell the same of Eli, though, who's supervising the meeting with a painful grimace and a disappointed stiffness.

"I have a court session in the early morning, but I'll be there," I promise. I'm about to point out the importance of that case for me - my first one ever since I jumped back, feet together, into the law - but before I have the chance to utter anything, Eli has already taken two threatening steps in my direction.

"Alicia, you can't miss this one, nobody bails out an event in Washington, for God's sake." His voice is controlled, but the tone gives away all his apprehension.

Well aware that a hostile answer won't help anyone, I breathe deep to keep my cool and reply with a calm smile, "I think I've just told I'll be there, Eli."

"We just have to be there for the dinner, take your time," Peter intervenes, staring into my eyes, but his words are clearly not meant for me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eli open his mouth to speak, but before he can give voice to his protests, Peter halts him with a wave of the hand. "We agreed on dinner, and that's gonna be it. Eli, can you give us a minute alone?"

Peter's request isn't really met by an enthusiastic reaction. Eli stares at him for a long while, probably pondering if he should persist. "She… she can't miss it," he reiterates before leaving.

Only when he's out and the door shuts behind me, Peter sits back and seems to relax. "Sorry, Eli tends to get a bit… _jumpy…_ on these occasions," he says with a grin.

"Yeah, I know," I heave a sigh.

And there we fall, into that uncomfortable what's-gonna-come-up-next silence. My gaze is fixed on the agenda, pretending to skim through the handwritten events.

"And so you're back into the business," Peter finally breaks the ice with a halting smile.

"I am," I confirm with a nod. It's not difficult to tell what that means in regards to the offer he made only a couple of weeks ago. If anything, his silent brooding tells me that his mind is probably in the same place. My gaze falls on the pictures behind him, in particular on the close-up of our son, and it's my chance for a quick change of topic. "Also, we haven't decided anything yet for Zach's birthday." It happens to be the day after the conference and my mom's heart can't help thinking that we shouldn't miss on a chance to make something pleasant out of this forced visit to the capitol.

Peter's brows raise in confusion. Pulled back from whatever universe he got lost in the meantime, he turns his head enough to stare at the picture on the cabinet behind him. "We are already there, we could just surprise him?"

His suggestion makes me crack into an amused chuckle. I appreciate the gesture, but he might be missing some detail I wouldn't consider irrelevant… "We can't just show up! He's still a teenager, Peter. And teenagers hate surprises."

He takes in my words with a nod, then brings his fist to his bottom lip, pensively. "True. Ok, so we tell him, maybe take him for lunch somewhere?"

I nod. "I'm sure that would make him happy."

"I'm gonna call him tonight and let you know," he volunteers.

"And I'll check with Grace if she wants to join us."

When his gaze drifts away and into the burgundy pattern of the carpet, I start to wonder if there is something more I might be still heedless of.

It's only after a long silence that he finally takes a deep, encouraging breath, and with some hesitation he speaks. "I've been asked to run for Vice President."

My whole body petrifies under the weight of those few words. It has to be a joke. There's no other explanation. I want to ask him if this is a joke indeed, but fearing the answer, I just sit, stiffening on my seat as I try not to show the blood that's simmering inside of me. It's a lost cause against his silence.

"So this is…" _Breathe in, Alicia_ … "So, this is all the fuss about that conference?" I strive to rein my anger in.

"I declined the offer," he gives away quietly.

 _Oh. Wait… what?_

I feel like I'm missing a connection somewhere. "Then why are you telling me?" Just for the sake of driving me mad, probably?

"Because if someone mentions anything about it while we are there, I don't want you to think I was hiding it from you," he explains.

"Ok," I nod, releasing the breath I was unconsciously keeping in.

"Ok." Peter repeats my same gesture, as his gaze tries to x-ray my thoughts.

It must be written all over my face that the unpleasant feeling hasn't left, because if he said no… "Then… why is it so important to be there?"

"Because I don't want to shut the door on any future chance," he admits.

If on one hand his words make sense, on the other hand I'm struggling to black out the images that the same choice of words, _future chance,_ is bringing to light.

At the same time, I guess I'm thankful he's been straight about it and his confession is what I needed to convince myself that I should probably do the same. "So… since we are up for honesty… I asked Finn Polmar to partner with me."

It's safe to say that his rancorous silence mirrors perfectly my own. I cock my head slightly to the left and brave his gaze. Or at least I try, for he looks away and down at his own hands. Even in this way, he can't hide the grimace. "You know… you should really see your face right now…" I challenge him, but my mild provocation seems to fall through the cracks and it's the farthest thing from my mind to rub it in. "He declined, by the way," I finally state, wisely choosing not to mention the motives for said rejection.

"Oh," seems to be everything he's able to utter for a long moment.

But it's far from me to give him any chance for further questioning, so I safely bring the topic back on to a safe ground. "So, back to Zach…"

"I'm gonna call him," he reconfirms.

"Ok."

When a new dose of silence meets my faint nod, it's clear for both that we have run out of topics, at least of _safe_ ones. Besides, Eli must be champing at the bit beyond the door, so it's definitely time for me to leave. We stand up almost in synchrony, then Peter leads me quietly to the door, grabs the knob but hesitates to open it. Instead, he stares at me and opens his mouth a few times, as to speak, but nothing seems to leave his mouth.

"It's been a while," he finally says, almost surprised. At his words? At the realization behind them?

Yet I have no idea about what he's referring to. I shrug, completely lost, and ask "What?"

"Us doing something together that's not about our careers," he enlightens me.

And I'd swear I saw the shadow of a smile on those lips. "Or failure of the same." I joke, chuckling mildly. With everything that happened, it's good to be able to laugh it up. It's something I haven't done in too long.

When I leave, I feel different. More light-hearted? Maybe hopeful, though it's difficult to focus about what? All I know is that all the previous tension seems to be gone, and that the thought of paying Zach a surprise visit very soon definitely rescued my mood.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks Chrissie** **for the beta job! 3**

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It was past two in the morning when we finally came back from dinner. My jaw and mandible were hurting so much from all the fake smiling I had to endure during the night. I unconsciously came to hate that life, even more so when it turned against me in new and unexpected ways, and Washington was nothing more than an amplified tank of everything that I despised.

All I remember from the night is that I probably drank more than I should have, and I blessed Eli's dedication to sucking it up to someone - whose name got forgotten between the second and third glass of wine – so for once he couldn't keep score.

I ambled the carpeted landing to my hotel room barefoot, enjoying its softness and the peaceful silence enshrouding the floor. My stiletto heels were off and hanging from my hand as soon as we stepped out of the elevator. I should know better than to wear new shoes on these events, but clearly it's been too long since I've attended one last.

When Peter paused in front of my door, his eyes asking to come inside, I promptly invoked tiredness and the very late hour. No matter how innocent his intentions might have been, to let him inside in the middle of the night sounded like a terrible idea. Not to mention, alcohol was starting to unleash its most uncontrollable side, the one where I couldn't trust myself. I could catch the mild, though probably not unexpected, letdown as I said good night to him, and saw the half-smile he gave me before turning to open his door, then disappearing behind it. And I sighed in relief.

/ / /

Zach's face, as we met at the restaurant Peter reserved for the occasion, was something I won't forget any time soon. Happy, that's for sure, the opportunities to spend time together, now that he's in college, are precious little, and the brand new Mac he'd been fancying for a while now definitely boosted his enthusiasm; but also wary and definitely on the alert, as if we were to drop some kind of shocking bombshell at any moment. On one hand I found his reaction to our visit entertaining; the way he peered at us both askance, dropping randomly trick questions, made me laugh more than once. But on the other hand it hurt to understand where his feeling came from and to empathize with him. I tried but failed sorrowfully to remember the last time we had a genuine family moment like this, a moment where we spent time together just because we wanted it and not as a front for decisions to make, or changes to face; or even worse, because the occasion required that we were all the same room. And as I exchanged looks with Peter, I couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking the same. This conclusion I drew only managed to make the celebration even more treasurable, and the few hours on our hands passed way faster than I wanted them to between a stroll down the Mall and a quick visit to the Capitol.

By the time we say goodbye to Zach it's dinner time, but the perfection that was today has been more than enough to satiate me and I'd rather take some needed time for myself, something I extremely missed during this trip. But as I open the door to my room, I hesitate, having a sudden change of heart. It just feels wrong to end the day like this, especially when Zach kind of left me with the uneasy feeling that there are a few things we should discuss. It was much easier when the kids were in the dark about our marriage _arrangements_ , it was much easier to keep feigning and hide behind the convenient excuse of our jobs keeping us distant. But ever since they _decided_ it was time to grow and stopped pretending to believe that everything was fine, I knew that this bargain was destined to a fast failure.

So, with no further indecision, I decide to invite Peter in.

He stops right behind the door, but doesn't walk in any farther than that, peeping around, then staring at me as I quickly text Grace to brief her about the day. He doesn't move from there, not until I look up from the phone and give him full attention. "It turned out a nice day," I observe, because we have to start the conversation somewhere, and this has genuinely been one of the best days I spent in a very long time.

"It did," Peter nods, as he slowly moves closer and finally takes a seat on the small sofa.

As I sit on the bed, one bleep of the phone announces an incoming text. Grace's answer. My gaze shifts between the screen and Peter as I read the few words, then lay the phone beside me and stare back at him. I'm not used anymore to seeing him dressed casually, well, sort of. Most of the occasions in which we meet involve neckties and formal dresses. I heave a sigh and finally give voice to what's bothering me ever since we dropped our son. "Is this what we did to our kids? That now they mistrust everything we do together?"

Peter looks down for a moment, then stares back at me, bitterness in his eyes, and nods. "Apparently."

At least I know I'm not just imagining things. Not that this makes my heart feel any lighter. "I don't want it."

"Me neither," he sighs. "These arrangements suck."

As much as I'm sure his words are not meant to hurt, they still do. I'm well aware those are _my_ arrangements and they can't be undone. But if there is a way to patch this situation, I'm sure I'd take it without batting an eyelid if that means getting our kids to regain their trust in us.

I need wine. I need a good glass of wine.

I walk to the cabinet and snort when the only alcoholic thing I find inside is bottled beer. With resignation I take two bottles and show them to Peter, who shrugs then nods in agreement. "What can we do about it?" I ask as I open them, hand him one, then take a small sip before sitting back.

Peter looks down at the bottle but doesn't drink. Lost in his thoughts, he stares blankly at the label for a long moment, then finally looks up and, with a shrug, he suggests, "We should maybe try to spend more time together?" His eyes don't falter or leave mine, not even for one instant.

And the time I spend weighing his suggestion is even briefer. "Don't go back there." I say, and my statement encounters a look of plain confusion.

"Go back where?" he asks. In good faith? Possibly.

So I make myself clear. "To moving. To make work something that stopped working long ago. The fact that we are both desperately alone doesn't make it automatically the right thing to do." I say it all in one breath, then stand up and move away, staring out the window.

"Nor does it make it wrong." His words are barely whispered, maybe ready to be taken back?

I turn my head to stare at him and I see him look down, just enough to shake away what I've just said, then stare back at me. "But don't worry, that's not what I was suggesting."

My brows knit in a mix of perplexity and curiosity, but I don't move from where I'm standing. "Then what?"

"Come with Grace on the weekends."

It takes me a while to grab his words. "What?" The question is rather rhetoric. It's clear what he's asking me, but I can't hide the surprise.

"You come with her, we do things as the family we used to be." His voice is almost soft. Almost. I can't say it's a plea, but there's definitely a lot of honesty in his proposal. Maybe some need, too, I could swear.

I open my mouth to protest but don't have time to actually speak because he quickly catches breath and goes on. "Don't try to come up with excuses to say no. I'm not asking you anything more than this. And I want to believe it's not that big of a _sacrifice_."

I look down, pondering his request, this time for real, then slowly walk back to the bed and sit again. Going to Springfield with Grace? I'm not sure how – and if - we can even make it work. It might go well once, maybe twice. But eventually we would end up finding a way to ruin even the little time he spends together with his daughter. But I was the one who asked for a way to fix this, and Peter offered one. _If there is a way to patch this situation, I'm sure I'd take it without batting an eyelid_. Only minutes ago I was ready to agree to everything. He's right in the end. It shouldn't even be a sacrifice to begin with, but…

But…

"Not every weekend," I finally half agree.

"I'd never ask you for it," he shakes his head with resolution, then pauses and stares at me pensively and I can hear his brain's gear work to find a good compromise. "Once a month?"

Once a month. I can do that, right? It's just a small commitment in the end and the more I think about it, the more it doesn't sound so bad anymore. "Sounds reasonable," I agree, "but on one condition."

Peter's face goes from satisfied to worried in the space of a fistful of seconds. "Which is?"

"You do the same." I'm not sure how I ended up suggesting this, but I guess that if we want to make this attempt work, there must be the same level of commitment on both sides.

"No excuses of any sort. We really commit to doing this," he softly admonishes me with a faint smile.

"No excuses." I nod and smile.


	4. Chapter 4

A fascinating glimpse of the floodlit Capitol enthralls me as I peek out the arched glass wall of the restaurant, a goblet of red in my hand. The place Peter picked for dinner, I have to admit, has in all probability the best Italian food in the whole city, besides being intimate and sophisticated just enough. Still, I haven't quite figured out yet how I did end up here in the first place.

It was my _turn_ to follow Grace to Springfield - the fourth? Ever since we agreed on these arrangements - when she bailed out on me, opting instead for a weekend with a couple of friends. I thought I'd stay home, maybe work, or simply enjoy for once the sweet doing nothing. But when I updated Peter about our daughter's change of plans, he joked around, protesting that no, we had said no pretenses. Albeit sure that Grace's absence can't be qualified as _pretense_ , my initially strong attempts to decline his invitation got milder and milder until I realized that I had no real reason to say no, so I ended up ceding and fulfilling my promise. What were we even supposed to do two days alone in Springfield was beyond me. Without Grace, good chances were we would end at each other's throat by the time I had to come back home.

It still surprises me how instead the time spent together wound up being pleasant, probably more than I will ever allow myself to admit out loud. To Peter. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

"You know, you still haven't told me what you dislike so much of Springfield." Peter's voice pulls me back from my racing thoughts.

I swallow the remaining drop of wine, well-aware it won't help me come up with an answer. I exploited a nonexistent personal antipathy toward this city as an excuse so many times that now that I need a concrete, offhand reason I can't seem to find one. Even more so after spending here some quality family time over the last weeks, rather than constantly posing and playacting for press and politicians. With a casual shrug and a raised eyebrow, I place my glass on the table and throw out, "It's not my city?"

Peter's uproarious laughter fills the hall. "This is not a reason!" he admonishes me playfully.

"Who says?" I defend myself, as I peep around, striving to hold back laughing myself. The restaurant is empty, excepting us and a young couple sitting at a near table. It's probably very late, but I resist the urge to check the time; Peter would definitely read it as a sign that I'm bored and impatient to leave, when instead I don't think I'm ready to call it a day yet.

"Oh, come on," he says, as he shifts to rest comfortably against the back of his chair, trying to smother the last bit of hilarity.

"And for the records, I never actually said I dislike Springfield," I correct him.

"No, actually you just eschewed being here in every possible way," he sets me before actions I can't deny having done.

"Uhm… I can grant you this," I admit with a mild laugh.

When the silence settles between us, I'm not precisely sure where this entire, a tad bizarre confrontation is going to lead. With one quick glance at my glass, I curse at my thoughtlessness of drinking up all the wine and not saving the last drop for the awkward moments that would inevitably step in. Hidden in the comforting view of the lights outside, I relish the quietness for a while, until I hear Peter clear imperceptibly his throat and feel his eyes on me.

"It was a nice date," he states quietly, almost in a whisper.

Upon hearing those words, I slowly turn to face him, tilting my head lightly to the right in mild disapproval. "This wasn't a date, Peter," I make clear. No, I would remember agreeing on a date. This was an entirely different thing.

And Peter's amused reaction makes me stiffen in my seat. "You. Me. A nice dinner. I invited you. You accepted. This is what people would generally define a date."

"What… Nooo, this is you tricking me into coming to Springfield, to begin with, so this is not a date!" My voice quavers, cracked by a nervous chuckle. If of disbelief or plain amusement it's hard to say right now.

Before I even have time to finish my arguments, Peter has leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Why can't you just admit it?"

"Admit what?" I ask, defensively, not sure I actually want to know.

"That we have just spent a beautiful night together." The bluntness of his words, the audacity of his eyes as he speaks them, leave me struck dumb for a moment.

I debate inwardly how to object to this one, then realize I just can't. "Okay, we did. And so?" Then my mind recalls that guy in Lake Victoria park, this same morning. Funny how political disagreements can cloud even the sunniest of the day. "Well, except maybe that small accident at the park."

Peter's lips curl in a half-smile. "Yeah, I know… Sorry for that, being the governor has its drawbacks."

"But," I move the topic back on _us_ , "this doesn't mean anything."

"When was the last time we've been this good together?" he suddenly asks, his gaze lost in the empty bottle of wine between us. His knitted brows make me wonder for a moment if the question is aimed at me or at himself, until he looks up and our gazes meet. In this moment I understand it's for me.

"I can't even remember," I observe in a feeble voice. And there's probably a veil of bitterness in my words, but at the same it's astoundingly pleasant to witness how we can get on really well with each other when we manage to leave out the imperfections of our past. Imperfections I might never be able to leave completely behind, yet they hurt less and less with each day and I'm not exactly sure if that's a good thing or a bad one. Because disremembering makes me feel exposed and vulnerable to suffer again. "But I guess I'm happy we sort of broke the trend?" I half admit. "It was a nice change. Just this once," I quickly add with a smirk.

Peter nods in agreement, then smiles at me, slightly impish. A smile that can't mean anything good. "Except that when a first date turns out successful, there's usually a second one."

"What are you even talking about?" I laugh.

"I'm talking about meeting. Again." The confidence in his tone dispels every possible doubt about the volition of his words.

"Why should I?" I ask, because I need much more than a romantic restaurant and a pleasant weekend this time.

Peter looks down, then away, getting lost in the same view as I did before. For a moment, he remains quiet, so I give him the time he needs to come up with something convincing, until he finally looks back at me. "You said you can't trust your husband anymore."

It probably wasn't a nice thing to say, back when I did. But we were being honest with each other, and I would probably tell it again. "I said it."

"Forget about it," he invites me to do something we both know I can't.

And my soft chuckle gives away all my disbelief. "Peter, I can't forget 20 years of my life!"

"No, and I would never want you to. But… If you'd give me the chance to show you who I am _now_ …" he almost pleads.

With a frustrated exhale, I shake my head and look outside. "This makes no sense." Or does it? I don't know anymore. Could I go back, I know I'd relive every single moment of these past two days without changing the least little hair.

"It was making perfect sense until I pointed it out and you got all defensive. You admitted it yourself. We used to be happy together and this weekend is the proof that we still can."

Another _date_. The word feels so odd, almost funny. Going on a second date with your separated husband. There would be room for a fair number of therapy sessions, and the image makes me crack in an unexpected – and a bit out of place – laughter.

Peter's confusion is etched all over his face as he stares at me, probably wondering what's going through my mind.

"Okay." With a shrug and a resigned shake of my head I accept on a date. Whether it's the first or the second, it's just a technicality.

The grin on Peter's face and the glow in his eyes tell me that maybe we are doing this right. Then, a thought lays hold of me, as I remember how dating used to work. "Just… on one condition…"

"Anything you want," he whispers, knowing best than to deny me something in this moment.

"Don't even think about the third date rule because _that's_ not going to happen…" I admonish him playfully, as I know very well how his mind works sometimes and that's not how he's going to win me back.

"Which third date rule?" he plays along.

 _The end_

* * *

 **A/N: I decided to leave the end open so you can take them where you want. This was the fix I had planned from the start but which took four chapters instead of two lol (my muse sucks at math :D )**


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